


Now Friends, Huh?

by OOFOOFx3



Category: Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Violence, Torture, just misery porn, misery porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28334679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OOFOOFx3/pseuds/OOFOOFx3
Summary: Reich and Soviet become the best of friends, but not how you or Reich would think.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

Reich's eyes flew wide open. He brought his arms around himself, shivering as the freezing cold water hit his aching back.

With a deep, shaky breath, he reached for the soap. He rubbed the slippery bar, lathering his hands up before furiously scrubbing his body down with it. He scrubbed until his skin turned red, until his muscles were sore, until he accidentally nicked himself on the chest with an untrimmed fingernail.

Reich scrambled to find something different to think about, but his mind kept wandering back to what happened earlier that night. Those hands roaming his body, lifting up his shirt to graze the skin of his chest and back. The man growling in his ear. Reich beating his hands against the man's chest in a sloppy attempt at pushing him away.

The German man shook his head profusely, digging his nails into his chest to anchor himself, as if to dismiss the memory. He was better than this. He wouldn't let a single man control his mood like that.

____________

"Fuck you, too!"

The man that had been tossed out with Reich just shook his head at the insult, walking off, much to Reich's disappointment.

That place had the best beer in town, and thanks to a certain Russian, Reich wouldn't be having any of it. That jackass just had to ruin his evening of drinking! Reich scoffed and started stumbling back home on his shaky legs, fists clenched tight by his sides.

Stupid fucking Slav degenerate. Reich was thankful to have a little racial dignity next to him.

Reich made his way down the street, too lazy to step up onto the curb. An alcohol-induced blush crept across his cheeks, almost hiding the twisted cross that he bore like a brand in the middle of his face. The stupid thing made it so that no matter how much he smiled, how much he tried, he would always be treated with disgust and fear. He could tell people wished he would just be put down, like a rabid dog.

As he rounded the corner, Reich's drunken thoughts were interrupted as his face was smashed against a bulky, sweaty chest that reeked of alcohol and body odor. He reeled back, falling flat on his ass with a startled yelp.

You had to be fucking kidding.

"Did you fucking..." Reich grumbled and planted his hands into the ground behind his back, clambering back to his feet. The man had the audacity to look him in the eye. "Did you fucking follow me?!"

Soviet stared daggers down at the small German man. "No, you followed me!" he slurred.

A moment passed. Suddenly, Reich's feet were off the ground and a fist held him up by his coat collar.

"A very drunk, vulnerable German, wandering the streets alone. How curious."

Reich's heart sunk like a stone. "Release me! I'll tear you apart!" He thrashed about, flailing his arms to strike Soviet or knock him away.

But it was useless. Soviet shoved Reich to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Before Reich could catch his breath, a hand dropped down his pants and another hand tugged his hair. Reich let out a terrified shriek, only for Soviet to release his hair and jam his free hand over Reich's open mouth.

"Just keep still..."

"Mrhh!! Let mrhh gohhh!!" Reich's muffled slurring fell upon deaf ears. He kicked and screamed and cried but no matter how hard he fought, the Russian continued touching him. Reich's pulse thumped in his ears as his panic rose. Soviet's filthy hands roamed all over his body, squeezing whatever they could grab.

Reich screamed like a banshee, finally landing a kick right in Soviet's balls. Soviet hissed in agony, letting go of Reich to clutch himself. Reich clambered to his feet and raced off as fast as he could, but not before delivering a final kick to the stomach of the disgusting man on the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Reich's wife would be pissed when he got home.

Imperial Japan begged him to stay home that night when he mentioned he had a nasty encounter. Reich hadn't told the full story, just that he got in a fight, for he was ashamed a man took his body from him that night. She took his hand in her own, squeezing his fingers gently as she pleaded with him to at least go to another bar instead of the one he got thrown out of for fighting in. He promised her he'd go to another bar. He lied.

Reich trudged up the sidewalk, squinting his eyes as the bright, flashing lights above the bar slowly came into view. He shielded his eyes from the blinding lights with his hand, hurrying along to enter the bar sooner. He stumbled over his own boot and landed on his stomach on the concrete ground.

"Fuck!"

As he laid on the ground, it all came back to him. He felt the hands roaming and grabbing his skin, the hand tugging his hair and the tent in the other man's pants pressing up against his thigh, as if it were all happening again. Reich lifted himself off the ground in a flash, rushing through the bar's entrance. He needed a fucking drink.

The lights inside the bar must've been set too low, because Reich could hardly see a thing. He shut the door behind him and wobbled deeper inside on legs made of jello. The bar itself was further up front, surrounded by tables and chairs. An old jukebox sat tucked away in the corner, the once bright lights on its face now flickering in the darkness. When did this place get so dark, he wondered.

Reich plopped himself down onto an empty barstool and stared up at the dark ceiling, emotionally drained. His head ached.

The bartender approached him, drying off a glass with a cloth. He grimaced upon realizing who Reich was. "...What can I get you, sir?"

"Whatever beer you've got," Reich spoke through gritted teeth. He slapped a ten dollar bill on the table. "Keep the change."

"One moment," The bartender rushed off to fetch Reich said drink after gingerly taking the bill from him.

Reich heaved an exhausted sigh, cradling his chin in his hands. He sunk to the counter to bury his face in his folded arms. Soon enough, the bartender slid a stein of beer across the counter to Reich.

Footsteps sounded from behind the German man. Reich lifted his head up upon hearing the noise, looking over his shoulder to find the source. Behind him stood the man who assaulted him last night.

"Privyet," he gave Reich a grin, revealing a set of crooked yellow teeth.

Reich nearly toppled over as he scrambled out of his seat. He raised a shaky hand to point at Soviet. "You! You bastard!"

"What?"

Reich lunged at Soviet, somehow knocking the larger man to the ground. He straddled him over his chest, his knees on either side of him. His hands went around the Soviet Union's neck.

Soviet's fist flew up to land Reich in the jaw, throwing him off guard. Soviet took advantage of this and flipped them over to pin him to the ground.

"Fucking—," a bouncer hurried over to yank Soviet up off of Reich and toss him out the door held open by the other bouncer. Reich scrambled away from the man, but he'd caught him too. The bouncer fucking yeeted Reich out into the street.

The fight still wasn't over. Reich, still furious, pounced on the now bewildered Russian, only to be thrown off and chucked to the asphalt ground.

The Soviet Union loomed over Reich. He dug his boot into Reich's chest, putting a little too much weight on the trapped man. Reich hacked and coughed.

"Fuck you!" Reich wheezed, reaching up to tug on Soviet's pant leg.

Soviet said nothing, only bending down to grab Reich's head by his face. With a swift blow, he slammed the Third Reich's head to the ground, knocking him out cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Reich awoke with a start.

He could hardly see a thing through the blanket of darkness surrounding him. He shifted, his sore muscles screaming in protest. Something rough looped around his wrists and ankles. He groaned, but quickly shut his mouth when footsteps sounded from outside.

The door atop a set of stairs swung open, allowing a ray of light to flood in the room, illuminating Reich's face. Heavy boots thumped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Then came a voice Reich recognized.

"You're finally awake."

Reich sat upright, a difficult task considering the binds he was in. "Let me go, fucker!"

Soviet chuckled lowly. In his hand, he balanced a plate. Reich eyed the plate suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned."

Reich snarled. "I'd rather starve than eat anything made by you."

"Then starve you will."

With that, Soviet chucked the plate at Reich, the ceramic shattering as it bounced off of the tied man and hit the ground. Shards of plate and chunks of chicken scatter across the concrete floor.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! I'll have you beaten and then hanged when I get out of this shithole!" Reich writhed about on the cold floor, fighting to break out of his binds and free himself.

Soviet growled, bending down to pick up a piece of the broken plate. He stomped over to the writhing man and sat on him, putting all his weight on his chest and stomach.

Reich wheezed. "Get off of me!"

Soviet only shook his head. He raised the weaponized bit of ceramic to Reich's cheek, before bringing his hand down to slice through the meat of Reich's face.

Reich shrieked.

Soviet dropped the shard on the ground by his feet. He reached over to pry open the wound, digging his dirty fingers into the cut, which was welling with blood. Reich's face stung horribly as Soviet ripped the gash open even further.

"Stop it! Stop it!"

"Hold fucking still!"

The Russian man stopped playing with the wound, instead scooting back to slip his now bloody hands under Reich's shirt and play with his nipples. Reich cried out.

It was all coming back to him again.

Reich's piercing shriek had to have been heard for miles. Soviet scrambled to cover his ears, releasing Reich from his hold. Reich bucked Soviet off by tossing and turning until the man got up.

"You little shit!" Soviet landed a kick right in Reich's stomach. Reich wheezed and doubled over, unable to clutch his stomach, for his hands were tied.

Reich hacked and coughed, spitting and sputtering in agony. Blood seeped out the wound on his cheek, trickling onto the ground and forming a small pool. Soviet delivered one more painful kick before storming back up the stairs and slamming the door shut.


	4. Chapter 4

"Now, if you've calmed down—"

"Fuck you!" Reich rolled about on the ground, tugging on the ropes tied around his wrists. "You'll pay for this!"

Soviet just rolled his eyes before popping a squat on the floor. He folded his arms over his knees, which looked silly, but Reich was in no mood to laugh.

"Do I have to leave you here longer?"

"I'll ruin you! I'll kill everyone you love!"

Soviet had left Reich in the basement for a day and a half now, without any food or water. Reich was hungry, cold and thirsty, but he'd rather die in the degenerate's basement than succumb to him.

"You seem to be mistaken," Soviet got to his feet and walked over to Reich, who continued writhing around. He brought his foot down onto Reich's throat, carefully enough not to cut off his airflow yet with enough force to startle him. "It's the other way around. I'm going to ruin you."

"I'd like to see you try," Reich spat.

With a dark chuckle, Soviet leaned forward, putting more weight on Reich's poor neck. Reich's hands flew to wrap around the big man's ankle. He sputtered and coughed, his lungs already burning from lack of air.

"Is that all you got?" Reich choked out.

Soviet bent down to pinch Reich's cheeks, roughly grabbing at the deep slash he made in Reich's face nearly two days prior. Using his other hand, he gripped Reich's jaw and pried open his mouth before spitting into it. Reich gagged.

"You see, Reich," Soviet seethed, venom dripping from his voice and hanging in the air around the pair. "The allies wanted us to make amends."

"No."

"Agreed. So I had something much, much better in mind," The Russian man cracked a dangerous smile. He finally lifted his boot off Reich's throat. Reich drew in a deep breath before wheezing it out.

"And what is that, commie?"

Soviet's dirty fingernails dug into the gash across Reich's cheek, tearing it open again. Dark blood welled in the cut. "I thought we could be good friends, just like the good old days."

Reich remained silent for once.

"How's that sound?"

"Terrible. Release me this instant."

Soviet's foot went back on Reich's throat. "How's that sound?" he repeated.

Reich let out a strained huff. "Don't touch me."

"Don't touch you? What do you mean, like this?" Soviet bent down again to slide his hands up Reich's sides. Reich stiffened.

"Stop..."

The Soviet Union let out a dark chuckle. "What, you don't like that?"

"Stop!"

He didn't stop. He rolled up Reich's shirt, tugging his above his head and folding it down to cover Reich's face. Reich, tied and bound, was unable to do anything but squirm in discomfort as Soviet played with his nipples.

"You sick fuck!" Reich's voice was muffled under the fabric of the shirt. "Is this why you brought me here? So you could touch me and then sodomize me?"

"I wasn't planning on the latter, but now that you mention it..."

Reich screamed. "No!"

"Calm down, I won't. Not now."

With that, the tears came. Reich bit back a choked sob as tears welled in his eyes. He slammed his own head against the ground, wheezing in terror.

"Somebody's crying? Aw," Soviet cooed.

"No! Shut up!" Reich snapped at him.

Soviet leaned over to gently pet the top of Reich's head. He ran his fingers through Reich's dark, greasy locks, a sinister grin playing on his lips. His touch didn't remain gentle for long. He grabbed onto a clump of Reich's hair and tugged, hard.

———————

Reich awoke with a squeal. He rubbed his aching head, groaning as he tried to soothe the throb in his skull.

It was only a nightmare, he assured himself. He was safe at home, buried beneath the covers of his large bed beside his loving wife.

Except Reich didn't feel the mattress beneath his back. The cold, abrasive concrete of the basement floor dug into his skin. His wife wasn't curled up next to him, snoring away. Instead, Reich was alone.

Reich groaned, leaning back against the wall behind him. Fucking hell.


	5. Chapter 5

Reich scooted forward, eyeing the shard of ceramic on the floor in desperation.

He needed to break free.

Soviet hadn't bothered to clean up the mess of now rotting food and broken plate matter on the ground, to both Reich's luck and displeasure. The basement reeked of old chicken and green beans, but at least he had some tools necessary for his escape. A plan had hatched in his mind overnight. Well, it wasn't a full-fledged plan yet. In fact, he didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing. He needed to break out of his binds first.

Using his foot, he coaxed the shard towards him, close enough so that he could grab it. His hands were tied together, so he had to manipulate the tool into a rather awkward position to maneuver it into the rope and slice through it. Once he broke free, he went to work hacking through the rope around his ankles.

It felt nice to stretch out his limbs after being tied up in the same position for so long. Reich's back cracked and popped as he lifted his arms above his head, leaning to each side. He took a wobbly step forward, holding his arms out in front of him for balance. Walking felt odd, but he'd manage.

Reich slowly and silently made his way up the stairs to the basement door. He rested his hand on the doorknob for a moment, afraid it was locked. After a moment of hesitation, he slowly turned the knob. To his surprise, the door swung open with a creak, revealing the living room of the Soviet Union. A long, gray couch sat far off to the side, and lounging around on it was one of Soviet's many sons.

Russia caught his eye immediately. "Papa!" The little shithead squealed, scrambling to the far end of the couch. He raised an extended index finger to the German man.

Soon enough, footsteps sounded from ahead, each footfall like thunder.

Reich made a mad dash for the front door. He turned and tugged the knob, only to be horrified when it didn't budge. His heart pounded like a jackhammer, so hard his pulse roared in his ears.

"Tsk, tsk..."

Reich squeezed his eyes shut, worrying his lip with his teeth as he tugged and tugged on the door. He beat his hands on the window, his knees buckling and shaking. The Soviet Union just stood there, an arms length away, watching as Reich kicked and beat at the door. He folded his arms across his chest, his fingers curling around thick biceps.

"Are you finished?"

Reich whipped around to face his kidnapper. Hot tears of frustration welled in his eyes. "You... You..."

"I? I?" Soviet huffed, grabbing Reich by the wrist. "Get the fuck back in the basement."

"Let me go!" Reich swatted Soviet's hand away. He darted into the kitchen, hurrying away from the bigger man as fast as he could. His eye caught the knife holder on the counter. With an awkward hesitation in his step, he unsheathed a knife from its place. It was small, but it was what Reich had.

Soviet followed Reich into the kitchen, cool as a cucumber. Upon his face he wore a neutral, near blank expression. He propped himself up against the counter.

"Reich, let's consider your options..." Soviet picked idly at his nails, raising a bushy brow. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You either drop the knife and head back to the basement with me, or..."

Reich's grip around the handle tightened.

"...No."

"Don't interrupt me," Soviet hissed. He continued with a huff. "Or I drag you back."

"No."

_____

Reich hit the ground with a loud thud, his body smacking against the cold, hard concrete.

"You see this, you asshead?" Soviet pointed to the wound in his side, which was wrapped in a liberal amount of bandages. A small dark stain lay where the knife had made contact with the Russian man's flesh. "You're going to pay."

"Fuck you."

"Yes, that's exactly how."

With that, Soviet pounced on Reich. Reich shrieked.


	6. Chapter 6

Here he was again, his body being taken from him once more. Soviet ravaged his insides, pumping in and out of him at an inhuman speed.

Reich was numb. He'd lost the emotional capacity to feel anything hours ago. His bruised, aching body shook like a leaf, his eyes squeezed shut as he turned his head away, unwilling to look his rapist in the eye ever again. His screams had turned to soft whimpers before ceasing all together. The only sound in the room was wet skin slapping against skin and low grunts from the man above.

Soviet's thrusts grew sloppier and sloppier as he neared his next climax.

Reich willed his hands to lift themselves to beat at Soviet's chest, but to no avail. He was stuck under him.

At last, Soviet came with a rumbly grunt. Reich didn't know why he expected him to pull out and finally stop fucking him, but he couldn't find it in himself to protest when Soviet went at it again.

At last, the Soviet Union pulled out and relieved him from his iron grip, clambering to his feet. Reich heaved a pained sigh, allowing his neck to relax and his head to hit the floor with a thump.

Reich's body was screaming out in agony like he was hours earlier. His muscles felt torn to shreds, pulled and twisted from being manipulated into many different impossible positions. Seed and blood leaked out his ass, trickling onto the floor in between his thighs. He hadn't any motivation nor the energy to tug his clothes back on. Instead, he curled up into fetal position, his muscles screeching at him in protest and just cried.

He cried for the deep ache in his bones. He cried for gash in his cheek. He cried for his violated body. He cried for his wife, who had probably filed a missing person's report and was worried sick for him.

They were probably looking for him! Soon, they'd come and barrel through Soviet's front door and scoop him up, taking him away from this monster.

Who was Reich kidding. It was hopeless. Soviet would never go down without a fight. Soviet versus a couple of cops? Pfft. What a joke.


	7. Seven

Reich thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

His eyes stung and his head throbbed, sore with a pounding headache that he caused from screaming too loud for too long at the annoying fuckshart who came down the stairs every day to taunt him.

"You hungry, sir? You want something to eat?" the enragement child snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "You shouldn't have ran, then."

"Snort my shit, Russia," Reich croaked.

"Up yours," Russia cracked a wicked grin. This child would grow up to be exactly like his sick father, Reich knew.

At least Russia wasn't beating him.

Reich couldn't even sit upright, he was so dizzy. His heart pounded throughout his body and with each pump of blood that roared in his ears, his headache grew more and more intense. The skin of his cracked lips was peeling and he was sure if his hands were free, he could rip off the dry flakes of skin. His body ached, and every now and then a violent sob wracked his body.

"You know... If you didn't do that to my papa, you'd be free right now."

"You don't know shit about what happened between me and your father," Reich hissed. ¨Wouldn't your father tear you a new one if he knew you were down here?¨

Russia paled. ¨...No, no. He wouldn't.¨

The German man blinked, having not expected a reaction from the boy. ¨What, does he beat you?¨

Russia went silent for a moment. He stared down at his boots, then looked back up to stare down at Reich. ¨He touches my sister and me.¨

It was Reich's turn to go pale. Russia turned away, preparing to trudge up the steps and out the basement door.

¨Russia.¨

¨What.¨

¨I'll see what I can do.¨


	8. Eight

“Don’t touch her!” Reich seethed, scooting towards the man clutching his wife. ¨I´ll kill you! I´ll fucking kill you!”

¨Shut up or I´ll make you lick her brains off the wall,¨ Soviet hissed, pressing the gun to Imperial Japan’s temple. 

Reich went silent. Hot, angry tears filled his eyes and streaked his already tear-stained face. He writhed about in his binds, struggling against the ropes in hopes of breaking free. 

Soviet’s hand moved from around Imperial Japan’s throat to her shoulder. ¨Move a muscle and I´ll shoot.¨

Imperial Japan gulped and nodded slowly.

Soviet´s hand dropped further, stopping at her thigh. He rubbed the side of her leg gently.

¨Don´t—!”

¨I do what I want!¨ Soviet snarled. He threw the woman to the ground, then proceeded to straddle her over her stomach, each knee on either side of her body. His hands busied themselves by unbuttoning her nightgown.

Imperial Japan’s gaze shot over to Reich and they made eye contact. She reached out to him with an outstretched hand, to which he tried to touch with his boot, but he was a few inches far. Imperial Japan suddenly let out a cry as Soviet tore away her gown and laid his eyes upon the prize he had taken for himself. 

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Imperial Japan landed a punch right in Soviet’s jaw. Soviet snarled, much like a livid wolf, before grabbing Imperial Japan’s head and slamming it to the floor repeatedly. She let out a string of blood curdling screams that left Reich totally engulfed in rage.

At last, Imperial Japan went still, hopefully only unconscious, and Soviet was free to do whatever he pleased with her body.

Reich watched as Soviet ravaged her, took her for his own, pumped her full of himself. He watched with wide eyes filled with tears that stung so bad he could barely keep his eyes open. He watched his enemy, his rapist, his old ally take his wife’s body while she lay unconscious. Eventually, Reich just squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for it to be over. 


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh this one is a doozy

“What… What is that?”

Soviet chuckled darkly, stepping on the brakes of each wheel of the table legs with his boot. “Don’t mind it. I’m just going to make some quick cash so I can afford to feed you. Don’t want my plaything starving, do we?”

Reich continued scooting back, eventually backing himself into the corner of the room. He shook violently, trembling like a frail little branch in the wind. Although the idea of food seemed quite delightful, he wanted nothing to do with the table and the medieval torture device looking thing set on top of it. 

“Will it hurt?”

Soviet gave no answer. Instead, with a huff, he turned to Reich. “Come to me.”

Reich shook his head.

The Soviet Union stomped over to the small man. If Reich weren’t terrified for his life, he would have pictured steam pouring out from Soviet’s nose and ears. 

“Either you listen to me, or I’ll leave you here in that table for a week without anything to eat.”

Reich didn’t move a muscle.

Soviet grabbed Reich by his arm and dragged him across the concrete floor. Reich let out a surprised yelp, kicking his legs about. Soviet then shoved Reich under the table and jammed Reich’s head through the respective slot. Reich screamed, hot tears streaming down his red cheeks.

“Awh, you’re crying? ...Do you need a straw?”

Reich sniffled and looked up at Soviet in confusion.

“...So you can suck it up!” Soviet snarled. He shoved Reich’s hands through the small holes on either side of the table, then pulled the leather restraints tight around the man’s wrists. 

Reich whimpered, tugging on the restraints. “...Too tight.”

“That’s what he said,” Soviet grumbled under his breath, trying to figure out the contraption on the table Reich was trapped in. “Wish I hadn’t thrown out the instructions to this damned thing.”

At last, Soviet figured it out. He pried Reich’s mouth open, and before he could protest or close it, jammed the mouthpiece of the device inside. Soviet then tugged the two ends of the mouthpiece apart, forcing Reich’s mouth to stay open. 

“Oh, there we go. That’s nice. How’s that feel?”

“Let mrhhh gohhh… Phease…”

Soviet said nothing, only further adjusting the mouthpiece until he was satisfied with the way it looked. 

Next came the final piece: a chain with a two-pronged hook on the end of it. Only when Soviet looped the chain behind Reich’s head and grabbed his nose did Reich realize what it was for.

“Noh! Nohhhh!”

“Shut up!” Soviet seethed at him. He hooked the two prongs into Reich’s nostrils, forcing Reich’s nose to turn upward like that of a pig.

Tears welled in Reich’s eyes again. It fucking hurt. The prongs tugged at his nose in the worst way and drool had begun to collect under his tongue and dribble down his chin onto the table. 

Soviet reached down to pump Reich’s cock a few times, then turned to grab something. He turned back around with a camera in his hand. 

“Say cheese!”

Click! Suddenly, there came a bright, unbearable flash. Blinded, Reich shut his eyes.

“Keep your eyes open! Now I have to retake the fucking— Goddammit. I wish you killed yourself in that bunker,” Soviet suddenly perked up. “Wait.”

The Soviet Union rummaged through his coat pockets before pulling out a pocket knife. Reich’s eyes widened. He attempted to shuffle back, only for the restraints to hold him still.

Soviet walked around Reich and the table, stopping behind him. 

“Wh?” Reich managed through the mouthpiece before he let out a piercing shriek.

Soviet let out a wicked cackle as he drove the blade through the flesh of Reich’s back. F-R-I-E-N-D, he carved into Reich.

Reich fought against the restraints, kicking his legs back behind him at Soviet and screaming bloody murder. “Stohhhp!! Nohhhh!”

“Keep it down, my kids are asleep,” The Russian man hissed, jabbing the knife deeper into Reich on the end of the D.

Blood seeped out Reich’s open wounds and poured down the small of his back before dripping down the back of his bare thighs. It pooled on the concrete floor. There it collected, smearing under Reich’s kicking feet. 

“Arghhh! Aghhh!” Reich gasped and sobbed, struggling with all his might. Soviet wasn’t even touching him anymore, only watching with a gleam in his eyes. He whipped out the camera and started taking shots of Reich. His back, gushing with blood. His face, held still by the horrid contraption. His legs, dripping with red blood. 

There Reich sat and cried all night, wounds festering. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Ten

"Nah-ah. You don't get to see the photos until I get my money."

The man grunted, reaching into his wallet to pull out a few hundred dollar bills. He and Soviet gingerly exchanged the fat stack of photographs for the money.

Right away, the man began flipping through the photos.

"Is this... Are these your own children?" He raised a thin eyebrow at the burly country. His sunken features were barely visible in the dark of the dimly lit gas station.

"Yes."

The man said nothing for a moment, until he came across a particularly bloody photograph. "Is this...? Him?"

Soviet nodded.

"You weren't kidding."

"I don't kid around."

"You do with your own kids— Ow!"

The man turned, clutching his tingling cheek with a bony hand.

"I'll fold your skeleton like a collapsible tent if you don't shut the fuck up and just take the photos."

"Yessir."


	11. Eleven

"Garghhh!! Fuck!"

Reich writhed about violently as the alcohol seeped into his wounds. Soviet grimaced.

"Either we do this or they get infected and you die!" The Soviet Union leaned forward, adding more weight to the foot he was using to hold Reich down. "Can't have you dying on me, can we?"

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" Reich sobbed, beating his hands against the concrete floor. He screamed as loud as he could and Soviet covered his ears.

"Are you done screaming yet? Nobody can hear you. Even if they could, nobody's gonna call the police on me."

Reich sniffled, gasping and panting for air. Soviet lifted his foot from Reich's back and stepped away, leaving Reich to stare up at him with a hateful glare.

Suddenly, a child screamed from somewhere in the house.

"Shit—" Soviet groaned. He turned away from the man on the floor and marched up the stairs, his hand sliding up the railing as he made his way up. As he reached the door, he turned back to Reich.

"You stay there,"

And then he left. The door locked with a click.

You could faintly hear Soviet charging through the kitchen and then upstairs. Then the footsteps ceased, and then came—

"Ukraine! Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Then the basement door clicked again and creaked open to reveal someone.

"Russia?" Reich whispered. "What are you doing down here?"

"I want to leave."

"Do I look like I'm in any position where I can help you do that?"

In all truth, Reich hated kids. Unless they could work, they were annoying little fuckers who got into things and made messes. Reich wanted nothing to do with this child.

"You said you'd see what you can do!"

"I said I'd get revenge for you, not help you escape!"

"I'll leave the front door unlocked for you tonight if you let me and my sister come."

"...Shit," Reich huffed, turning over to sit upright. "I'll tell you what, Slav degenerate. We are not friends. Don't even think that for a second."

"Yessir."

"...But so long as you assist me in my escape tonight, I will get you out of this house."

Russia's lips curled upward into a grin, revealing horribly crooked, yellow teeth. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"What time is it?"

"About a quarter past eleven."

"Fuck it, we should go now, shouldn't we?"

Russia beamed.

"Wipe that stupid smile of your ugly face. I'm only helping you to set myself free."

"I know, I just... Nobody has ever been this kind to me," Russia sniffled.

The only thing worse than children was crying children.

"Don't fucking... Ew. And this is me being kind?" Reich clambered to his feet, walking up the steps towards Russia. "No matter. Is the coast clear?"


	12. Twelve

Out of the basement Reich crept. Russia followed along, key in hand. Through the darkness they walked, silent as mice.

The pair had waited in the basement for a while until Soviet went to sleep, but not before Russia snuck off to steal the house key.

"I have to go get my sister," Russia whispered, cupping his hand over his mouth to somehow help direct the noise at Reich.

Oh, fucking delightful. Not one, but two children. Reich would've groaned if he weren't so terrified of making noise. Instead, he just grit his teeth and bore it.

Off Russia tip-toed to his sister's bedroom. Reich waited in the hallway, stiff as a board. Sweat dripped down his face and the nape of his neck. His forehead was Niagara Falls. Deciding he wasn't going to wait in plain sight anymore, he shuffled down the hall and into the kitchen, where he spotted a trench coat draped across the back of a chair.

Finally. Reich wouldn't be naked.

Reich tugged the trench coat over himself and buttoned it up to hide his nude body. Russia came into the kitchen, Belarus' hand in his.

Belarus was a short little girl with shoulder-length dark hair. She couldn't have been older than seven. She had big, blue eyes and an angular face. The top portion of her face was red, and the bottom half was green. An intricate, almost lace-like pattern decorated the left of her face. The fact the red and green weren't an even split irked Reich, but there were worse things about children, like the fact they cry. All the time. And what was Belarus doing? You guessed it, crying. So loud, in fact, that Ukraine came out of their room to investigate the noise.

"Bel, you can't hear me if you're crying. Shhhh..." Russia did his best to soothe the sobbing little girl.

"What are you guys doi— Oh, my God," Ukraine stopped in front of their door, staring up at Reich with wide eyes, blue as the deep ocean. Their black hair was tangled and going every which way. The right sleeve of their shirt hung loosely over the end of their wrist.

"Fuck off, Ukraine!" Russia hissed at his sibling. His eyes flickered to the child's missing hand. "If you tell Papa about this, I'll cut off your other hand."

With that, Ukraine backed into their room and shut the door. Russia returned to trying to soothe little Belarus.

"If we get caught, I'm telling your father you dragged me out here."

"We're not going to get caught. Papa sleeps like a... Something that's a heavy sleeper."

"A drunkard."

Russia frowned. "He's not—"

"I dated your father for years. Trust me, he's a drunk."

The Russian boy then ignored Reich, instead running his fingers through Belarus' long hair, cooing to her softly. "Shhh... We're going to get away from Papa. We'll never have to do that again."

Eventually, Belarus' cries ceased and the group of three went on their merry way. Russia jammed the key into the lock of the door, then tugged it open with a creak.

The frigid night air hit them like a mac truck. Reich tugged on the sleeves of his previously acquired trench coat, pulling it tighter around himself.

"Freedom, here we come," Russia smiled, squeezing Belarus' hand.


	13. Thirteen

The sky dumped rain on them in buckets, pouring so hard that eventually they had to stop at a park and hang out under the safety of a gazebo. It was like the sky was roaring, sobbing for the injustice that occurred in the home of the Soviet Union.

Reich laid across the bench, curling up inside the stolen trench coat to keep warm in the insufferable Russian weather. Russia laid on the bench parallel to Reich, Belarus in his arms.

Reich jammed his hands into the pockets of the coat, then raised an eyebrow upon feeling something. He grabbed the object in the pocket and pulled it out.

A pistol.

Reich flipped open the cylinder, careful to keep his finger off the trigger as he peered inside to check if it was loaded. Three bullets. He had three shots, three chances to defend himself from the wrath of the Soviet Union until he got to his base and got his own gun.

Reich flipped the safety on, tucked the pistol back into his pocket and shut his eyes. Eventually, he dozed off into a light, dreamless sleep.


	14. Fourteen

The group made a mad dash down the street. Cars swerved and honked and drivers hollered and raised middle fingers as Reich and Russia, who was carrying Belarus, rushed through the busy road. They stopped at the grassy median, watching the cars barrel by.

¨Are we there yet?¨ Belarus whined as Russia set her down, clenching her fists. Her face was flushed red from the unforgiving cold. She had Russia's coat pulled tight around her, which was so long it ran to her knees.

Reich groaned, jamming a finger in each ear. ¨Get the kid to shut up, will you?¨

¨She's just tired. And I want her to stop whining too, but not when she's stifled her feelings, but after she's coped with them.¨

Reich rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe it, the stupid little Slav teenager actually thought he was smart.

¨Where are we going, anyway?¨

¨The Fatherland.¨

¨We're walking to Germany?!¨ Russia's jaw hit the floor.

Reich frowned. ¨No, you ass.¨

¨Then how are we—"

Reich raised a finger to Russia's lips, then turned to the otherside of the road. He darted into the street, waving his hand about to flag down a car. Within moments, a car pulled over onto the side of the road and the man inside rolled down the window. He squinted as soon as he recognized Reich.

Reich whipped out the pistol and yanked open the car door. ¨Get out of the fucking car!¨

The man immediately threw his hands in the air and ducked out of the vehicle. Reich grabbed the man by the back of his collar and threw him to the ground, then clambered into the driver's seat. He gestured to the back seat wildly.

¨Get inside!¨

Russia picked up Belarus and scrambled to get into the back of the car. Reich floored it, nearly running over the man who was still trying to pick himself up off of the ground.

¨Slow down!¨ Russia whined, holding his sister close. ¨You're scaring Belarus!¨

¨Complain about my driving ever again and I'll send you back to your father," Reich hissed at the boy, struggling to drive and talk at the same time.

Russia went silent.

¨What, is he that scary to you?¨ Reich snorted. ¨There's no way he's done anything worse to you than he's done to me.¨

¨Sir. He made me fuck my sister.¨

It was Reich's turn to go quiet. ¨Did... Did he really abuse you?¨

¨Yes.¨

Reich peered into the rear-view mirror to make eye contact with the boy in the backseat and it was like he was staring at his own younger self. His face suddenly felt warm and there grew a building pressure behind his eyes.

¨...Russia. If you tell anybody what I am about to say, I'll make sure you and your sister never see the light of day again.¨

¨Yessir.¨

Reich wiped his eyes with the end of the trench coat sleeve, swallowing a golf ball sized lump in his throat. ¨...My father did things to me, too. He never... He didn't molest me— He beat me and put out his cigarettes on me.¨

¨I'm sorry to hear that, sir," Russia studied his boots, holding onto Belarus tight. The girl's gaze kept flickering back and forth between her brother and the man in the driver's seat, her eyes wide with worry.

"Are we there yet?"


	15. Fifteen

"Führer?" the man at the computer gasped upon seeing Reich slink into the room.

"Yes, I have returned."

"Where have you been?" Reich's assistant pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an extended index finger. "We've been looking all over for you, but to no avail—"

"Enough worrying. I am here now, aren't I?"

"Why have you brought— Is that Russia and Belarus?"

"It's a long story. Call someone to fetch me a new uniform and get us something to eat."

"Yes, Führer...¨ the man bent down to push a button under his desk.

¨And get these kids away from me. I sat in a car with them for two days.¨

¨Führer, please, tell me where you went.¨

Right then, another man rushed in. Reich's assistant gave him Reich's orders, then as soon as the man left the room with the kids, turned back to Reich.

¨Please?¨

¨The nerve you have, Friedrich,¨ Reich sighed, tugging at the end of the sleeve of his stolen trench coat. ¨...Can I trust you?¨

¨With your life, Führer.¨

¨These past few days, I have seen things. Things that would break a man. And when I saw those things, I said and did things I regret. The skin of my back still bleeds when I lay."

¨Haven't we all?¨

¨I'm talking about the kind of things I've done to people. Things only those subhuman creatures would deserve.¨

¨Whatever do you mean, Führer?¨

The man came back in with a black SS uniform in his hands. He handed it to Reich, who tucked it under his arm. He waited for the man to leave before resuming. ¨I... Uhm.¨

¨Führer, you can tell me anything.¨

¨I don't want to talk about this anymore.¨

With that, Reich left the room.


	16. Sixteen

The day began like any other.

Reich awoke in his bed, got dressed so he wasn't wearing only his sparkly pink boxers, then went straight to his office with a mug of coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. His boots thumped against the tile floor with each menacing step.

Despite what Reich had seen those few days, he was not broken. This he told himself as he walked down the hall. Though he was sure he would never feel safe again, though last night he wept for his dead wife so hard he vomited twice, though he could sometimes still feel the ever-lingering touch of his rapist on his body, he was not broken, not even bent. Though his rest last night was plagued with horrid nightmares and when he awoke from them he found himself unable to breathe, Reich was as strong and capable as ever and he would not let this— interruption —get in the way of his second attempt at taking the world into his clenched fist.

Reich sat in his swivel seat, scribbling away his plans for world domination, as one does on a Tuesday morning. Eventually, his pen scratched at the looseleaf without leaving a mark of ink. Reich just shook his head, chucked the now useless pen into the trash bin below his desk, then picked up a new pen from the cup of writing utensils in front of him.

¨Führer! Führer!¨ Friedrich came bursting into the room.

Reich looked up from his desk, eyes wide. ¨What is the matter?¨

¨The kids are missing.¨

¨I don't give a damn about the kids. Have you forgotten they're under the nurse's care?¨

¨No! They're gone! The nurse can't find them!¨

And then came the gunshots. A guard screamed from down the hall, then came a thump on the door.

¨Shit—" Reich ducked under the desk. ¨Friedrich, lock the door!¨

But little was too late. The Soviet Union swung the door open wide, revealing his gargantuan figure standing tall in the doorway.

¨Third.¨

The voice from his nightmares.

Friedrich made a run for it, abandoning Reich in his office. Reich shook so violently you could hear his shoulders thump against the underside of the desk.

¨Oh, Third? Where could you have gone?¨ Soviet cooed.

Suddenly, the desk wasn't on top of Reich anymore.

Reich sprung up off the ground, whipped his gun from his jacket's inner pocket and fired. He hit Soviet in the thigh, who doubled over to clutch his stinging leg.

¨When we get back, I'm going to make your life a living hell!"

¨Doubt it,¨ Reich swung his hand at Soviet, pistol in hand.

The butt of the gun bashed against the Russian's mouth and jaw. Soviet fell to the floor and his mouth opened in a scream, revealing a bloody tongue and several missing teeth. Reich grabbed Soviet's coat collar, pushed him down, then yanked him forward to headbutt him as hard as he could.

Soviet collapsed on the ground with a groan.


	17. Seventeen

Soviet awoke to the feeling of his arms digging into his sides. Something wet surrounded his torso, gripping onto him so tight it cut off his circulation. Everything around him reeked of gasoline.

The man opened his eyes. It was a tire. Someone had forced a tire down over him, filled it with gasoline and left him to rot in— Was this a junkyard?

¨You're finally awake,¨ Reich repeated the words Soviet first said to him when he awoke in that basement a week ago. His hands were behind his back. ¨How does it feel to be fucked with the short end of the stick?¨

Soviet rolled his eyes. ¨Your petty ass.¨

¨Petty? I wouldn't call this petty,¨ Reich snickered. ¨My anger is justified.¨

¨Release me. Or else.¨

¨Or else what? It's not like you can do anything,¨ Reich brought his hands back in front of himself to reveal two things in either hand: a knife and a lighter. He took a few steps, walking around the large man crammed inside the tire. ¨Today is the day... I seek justice.¨

Soviet had no words.

Reich crouched down to be at the same level as Soviet's back. He suddenly plunged the knife into the fluff of Soviet's coat, ripping it apart to reveal the red, scarred skin of Soviet's torso. Reich yanked the knife out, then without hesitation, dug it into Soviet's skin. P-E-D-O, he carved.

Soviet let out an unholy scream, his mouth opening wide to show his bloody tongue and gums. Several teeth were missing from when Reich pistol whipped him earlier. Blood soaked the shreds of his coat, pouring down the rippling flesh of his back and collecting within the ridges and grooves of the tire. The man's screams were music to Reich's ears, a sweet melody Reich would hum himself to sleep. The sound of his enemy crying out in agony was much better than the gruff, abrasive tone of his grating voice.

At last, Reich finished carving the message into Soviet's back. He stepped away from the man, but only for a moment to assess the damage he had done. He admired his work with a gleam in his eye one would see on the face of a child on Christmas morning. He dragged his thumb across the wheel of the lighter a few times, listening to the soft click instead of Soviet's cries. He brought the tiny flame to the edge of the gasoline-filled tire, which went up in flames immediately.

Reich walked away from the junkyard a healed man, the pained wails of the Soviet Union accompanying the soft thump of each footstep. As Soviet's cries eventually faded, so did the pain of the hell Soviet wrought on Reich. Gone were the restless nights. Gone were the tears.

At least, Reich thought.


	18. Eighteen

"You killed him! You killed my papa!"

Tears spilled down the poor boy's face, trickling from his ugly, inflamed eyes and down to his chin. His fists clenched tight as his sides, so hard that his nails left crescent-shaped dips in his palms.

"You wanted revenge, am I correct?" Reich looked up from his paperwork to stare down at the child standing in front of his desk.

"I didn't want him dead!"

"If an injury must be done to man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared," Reich put simply, then returned to his work. His pen danced across the paper as they stayed there in a stagnant silence for a moment.

"...I loved him," Russia finally said. "Despite what he did to me, I loved my papa. And it tears me apart to know I love the man who forced me to abuse my sister."

"Perhaps you enjoyed the abuse, hm?"

Russia's eyes lit up in anger. "You— Fuck you! How would you feel if I told you that you enjoyed what he did to you?!"

"I would feel nothing, because I know my truth."

"You loved my papa at some point! Maybe you enjoyed being raped— Maybe you're secretly still in love with him!"

"Did not, am not," Reich didn't even look up from the papers neatly stacked on the desk below him. "However— You're a fucked up little kid, aren't you? You enjoyed every moment of whatever it was your father made you do to your sister. Or, perhaps, you're lying and he never so much as laid a finger on you."

This the Third Reich knew was false— He had heard the screams of the children while he was in captivity. Russia was just too easy to rile up.

"Well, I— I... I had it way worse than you! I went through that for years! And you? You lived in a basement for only a week!"

Deep down, Reich knew trauma wasn't to be measured and competed for. There were no trauma Olympics. Whether you drowned in the bathtub or the sea, you still drowned, and nobody should tell you that you didn't. But something in Reich stirred as those words came out of Russia's mouth. Something clicked. A still-healing wound was ripped open.

Reich lunged at the boy, tackling him to the ground and winding his arm back to take a swing at Russia. Russia screamed, throwing his hands in front of himself.

A gruff voice spoke into Reich's ear. Kill him, it said. Kill him and be done with it.

Reich squinted, raising his fist a little higher. "You fucking— I... I..."

"Your coffee, Führer?" Friedrich's voice sounded from outside the door, accompanied by three staccato knocks.

Immediately Reich got off of Russia. He grabbed Russia by his arm, forced him upright, then shoved him into the chair in front of his desk.

"Yes, Friedrich! Come in!"


	19. Nineteen

A few days flew by. Each night, Reich tossed and turned in a restless fit. During the rare moments he got shut-eye, his sleep was plagued by nightmares. His waking hours were spent scribbling away at his desk, going mad over his plans to retake the world under his thumb. Eventually, Reich gave up on sleep all together. The only rest he got was when he passed out from exhaustion.

Reich awoke from a nightmare with a gasp, his hand clutching his chest. His heart thumped wildly, so hard he could hear it pulsing in his ears and feel it throughout his body. There was a wet feeling in his pants. He looked down to see a dark stain in the crotch of his trousers.

He pissed himself. Delightful.

WIth a sluggish groan, Reich pushed his chair away from his desk to get to his feet. His pants stuck to him with every step he took towards the door. His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. It was a challenge to read the minute hand in the dim lighting of the room, but the hour hand read a little past three.

Reich made his way out of his office towards his bedroom, nearly tripping over his own feet a number of times. He flipped on the lightswitch of his bedroom and squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust to the new light.

His room was grand. A king-sized bed sat against the wall in the center of the room (it's a shame he couldn't sleep in it anymore), a nightstand on either side. Atop each nightstand was a lamp. Off in the corner was a wardrobe, which had a mirror attached to the top, similar to a vanity. Finally, there was a closet near the wardrobe where Reich kept spare uniforms and other articles of clothing. He reached into a drawer of the wardrobe to pull out a pair of briefs, then turned to the closet. He swung open the door in a way that almost made him appear intoxicated.

All of his pants were already in the wash.

Reich groaned again. Fuck it, no pants for tonight. His laundry would be done in the morning, anyway. He slithered out of his wet garments, cringing at the smell of piss. At least he didn't shit.

The man then exited his room with the dirty clothes in hand, turning off the lights on his way out. He very carefully went down the stairs in the dark, sure to hold onto the railing for support. The hair on his bare legs bristled in the chilly night air.

Reich eventually came into the laundry room, where the dryer was roaring, presumably full of his pants. He tucked the piss soaked clothes under his arm and used his now free hands to lift the lid of the washing machine.

It wouldn't budge.

¨Dammit...¨ he tried again, this time using more force, but to no avail.

The lid flew open with an agonizing creak. Reich hurried to cover his ears as the lid slammed open and shut, open and shut, open and shut. It crashed against the metal of its chamber counterpart, clapping like thunder. The laundry room door swung shut and startled Reich out of his frozen state. He reached to turn the knob, but it was stuck. He screamed and beat his hands against the door, calling out for somebody, anybody.

Eventually, he gave up on crying and fighting and laid down on the tile floor, broken, scared sobs heaving his body.


End file.
